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ivS  there:  a 
3ANTA 
CLAU^  ? 

4^ 


JACOB  A.RIIS 


NEW  YORK 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

LONDON  :  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
1904 
All  rights  reserved 


IS  THERE  A  SANTA 
CLAUS? 


D 


EAR  MR.  RIIS: 
^^A  little  chap 
of  six  on  the  Western 
frontier  writes  to  us : 


"  *  Will  you  please  tell  me 
if  there  is  a  Santa  Claus? 
Papa  says  not/ 

Won't  you  answer 
him? " 


That  was  the  mes- 
sage that  came  to  me 
from  an  editor  last  De- 

3 


ceinber  just  as  I  was 
going  on  a  journey. 
Why  he  sent  it  to  me 
I  don't  know.  Perhaps 
it  was  because,  when  I 
was  a  little  chap,  my 
home  was  way  up  to- 
ward  that  white  north 
n'*  where  even   the  little 

'  boys  ride  in  sleds  behind 

^  ^  *  \  >V^^       reindeer,   as    they  are 
/     \   )       the   only   horses  they 
Y   k   '   \       have.     Perhaps  it  was 
because  when  I  was  a 
^^^>J^  young  lad  I  knew  Hans 
Christian  Andersen, 
^  who   surely   ought  to 
'    know,   and  spoke  his 
tongue.  Perhaps  it  was 


both.  I  will  ask  the 
editor  when  I  see  him. 
Meanwhile,  here  was 
his  letter,  with  Christ- 
mas right  at  the  door, 
and,  as  I  said,  I  was 
going  on  a  journey. 

I  buttoned  it  up  in 
my  great  coat  along  with 
a  lot  of  other  letters  I 
didn'thave  time  to  read, 
and  I  thought  as  I  went 
to  the  depot  what  a  pity 
it  was  that  my  little 
friend's  papa  should 
have  forgotten  about 
Santa  Claus.  We  big 
people  do  forget  the 
strangest  way,  and  then 


we  haven't  got  a  bit  of 
a  good  time  any  more. 


NO  Santa  Glaus! 
If  you  had  asked 
that  car  full  of  people 
I  would  have  liked  to 
hear  the  answers  they 
would  have  given  you. 
No  Santa  Glaus !  Why, 
there  was  scarce  a  man 
in  the  lot  who  didn't 
carry  a  bundle  that 
looked  as  if  it  had  just 
tumbled  out  of  his 
sleigh.  I  felt  of  one 
slyly^  and  it  was  a  boy's 
sled — a  ^'flexible  flyer," 
^  I  know,  because  he  left 


one  at  our  house  the 
Christmas  before;  and 
I  distinctly  heard  the 
rattling  of  a  pair  of 
skates  in  that  box  in 
the  next  seat.  They 
were  all  good-natured, 
every  one,  though  the 
train  was  behind  time 
— that  is  a  sure  sign  of 
Christmas.  The  brake- 
man  wore  a  piece  of 
mistletoe  in  his  cap  and 
a  broad  grin  on  his  face, 
and  he  said  Merry 
Christmas"  in  a  way  to 
make  a  man  feel  good 
all  the  rest  of  the  day. 
No    Santa    Claus,  is 


there?  You  just  ask 
him! 

And  then  the  train 
rolled  into  the  city  un- 
der the  big  gray  dome 
to  which  George  Wash- 
ington gave  his  name, 
and  by-and-by  I  went 
through  a  doorway 
which  all  American 
boys  would  rather  see 
than  go  to  school  a 
whole  week,  though 
they  love  their  teacher 
dearly.  It  is  true  that 
last  winter  my  own  lit- 
tle lad  told  the  kind  man 
whose  house  it  is  that 
he  would   rather  ride 


up  and  down  in  the 
elevator  at  the  hotel, 
but  that  was  because 
he  was  so  very  little  at 
the  time  and  didn't 
know  things  rightly, 
and,  besides,  it  was  his 
first  experience  with  an 
elevator. 

As  I  was  saying,  I 
went  through  the  door 
into  a  beautiful  white 
hallwith  lofty  pillars, be- 
tween which  there  were 
regular  banks  of  holly 
with  the  red  berries 
shining  through,  just  as 
if  it  were  out  in  the 
woods!    And  from  be- 

9 


hind  one  of  them  there 
came  the  merriest  laugh 
you  could  ever  think  of. 
Do  you  think,  now,  it 
was  that  letter  in  my 
pocket  that  gave  that 
guilty  little  throb 
against  my  heart  when  I 
y  heard  it,  or  what  could 
it  have  been?  I  hadn't 
even  time  to  ask  myself 
the  question,  for  there 
stoodmy  host  all  framed 
in  holly,  and  with  the 
heartiest  handclasp. 

*^Come  in,"  he  said, 
and  drew  me  after. 
"The  coffee  is  waiting." 
And  he  beamed  upon 


the  table  with  the  ver- 
iest Christmas  face  as 
he  poured  it  out  himself, 
one  cup  for  his  dear 
wife  and  one  for  me. 
The  children — ah!  you  «^ 
should  have  asked  them  \ 
if  there  was  a  Santa 
Claus ! 


hi/ 


AND  so  we  sat  and  ^ 
talked,  and  I  told 
my  kind  friends  that  ^  i 
my  own  dear  old  mo- 
ther, whom  1  have  not 
seen  for  years,  was  very, 
very  sick  in  far-away 
Denmark  and  longing 
for    her    boy,    and  a 


□□□□HSi 

nnn 


mist  came  into  my 
hostess's  gentle  eyes 
and  she  said,  "  Let  us 
cable  over  and  tell  her 
how  much  we  think  of 
her/'  though  she  had 
never  seen  her.  And  it 
was  no  sooner  said  than 
done.  In  came  a  man 
with  a  writing-pad,  and 
while  we  drank  our  cof- 
fee this  message  sped 
under  the  great  stormy 
sea  to  the  far-away 
country  where  the  day 
was  shading  into  even- 
ing already  though  the 
sun  was  scarce  two  hours 


L_ij  high  in  Washington: 


4 


The  White  House. 
Mrs,  Riisy  Ribe^  Denmark: 

Your  son  is  breakfasting 
with  us.  We  send  you  our 
love  and  sympathy. 

Theodore  and  Edith  Roosevelt 

For,  you  see,  the 
house  with  the  holly  in 
the  hall  was  the  White 
House,  and  my  host  was 
the  President  of  the 
United  States.  I  have 
to  tell  it  to  you,  or  you 
might  easily  fall  into  the 
same  error  I  came  near 
falling  into.  I  had  to 
pinch  myself  to  make 
sure  the  President  was 
not  Santa  Claus  himself. 


I  felt  that  he  had  in  that 
moment  given  me  the 
very  greatest  Christmas 
gift  any  man  ever  re- 
ceived: my  little  moth- 
er's life.  For  really  what 
ailed  her  w^as  that  she 
was  very  old,  and  I  know 
that  when  she  got  the 
President's  dispatch  she 
must  have  become  im- 
mediately ten  years 
younger  and  got  right 
out  of  bed.  Don't  you 
know  mothers  are  that 


way  wnen  any  one 
makes  much  of  their 
boys?  I  think  Santa 
Claus   must  have 


brought  them  all  in  the 
beginning — the  moth- 
ers, I  mean. 

^  I  wouldjust  give  any- 
thing to  see  what  hap- 
pened in  that  old  town 
that  is  full  of  blessed 
memories  to  me,  when 
the  telegraph  ticked  off 
that  message.  I  will 
warrant  the  town  hur- 
ried out,  burgomaster, 
bishop,  beadle  and  all, 
to  do  honor  to  my  gen- 
tle old  mother.  No 
Santa  Claus,  eh?  What 
was  that,  then,  that 
spanned  two  oceans 
with  a  breath  of  love 


and  cheer,  I  should  like 
to  know.  Tell  me  that! 

After  the  colFee  we 
sat  together  in  the  Pres- 
ident's office  for  a  little 
while  while  he  signed 
commissions,  each  and 
every  one  of  which  was 
just  Santa  Claus's  gift 
to  a  grown-up  boy  who 
had  been  good  in  the 
year  that  was  going;  and 
before  we  parted  the 
President  had  lifted  with 
so  many  strokes  of  his 
pen  clouds  of  sorrow 
and  want  that  weighed 
heavily  on  homes  I  knew 
of  to  which  Santa  Claus 

i6 


had  had  hard  work  find- 
ing his  way  that  Christ- 
mas. 

It  seemed  to  me  as  I 
went  out  of  the  door, 
where  the  big  policeman 
touched  his  hat  and 
wished  me  Merry 
Christmas,  that  the  sun 
never  shone  so  brightly 
in  May  as  it  did  then. 
I  quite  expected  to  see 
the  crocuses  and  the 
jonquils,  that  make  the 
White  House  garden  so 
pretty,  out  in  full  bloom. 
They  were  not,  I  sup- 
pose, only  because  they 
are  official  flowers  and 


have  a  proper  respect  for 
the  calendar  that  runs 
Congress  and  the  Exec- 
utive Department,  too. 

I  stopped  on  the  way 
down  the  avenue  at  Un- 
cle Sam's  paymaster's  to 
see  what  he  thought  of 
it.  And  there  he  was, 
busy  as  could  be,  mak- 
ing ready  for  the  coming 
of  Santa  Glaus.  No 
need  of  my  asking  any 
questions  here.  Men 
stood  in  line  with  bank- 
notes in  their  hands  ask- 
ing for  gold,  new  gold- 
oieces,  thev  said,  most 


master,  who  had  a  sprig 
of  Christmas  green  fixed 
in  his  desk  just  like  any 
other  man,  laughed  and 
shook  his  head  and  said 
Santa  Claus?  "  and  the 
men  in  the  line  laughed 
too  and  nodded  and 
went  away  with  their 
gold. 

ONE  man  whowent 
out  just  ahead  of 
me  I  saw  stoop  over  a 
poor  woman  on  the  cor- 
ner and  thrust  some- 
thing into  her  hand, 
then  walk  hastily  away. 
It   was   I  who  caught 


the  light  in  the  woman's 
eye  and  the  blessing 
upon  her  poor  wan  lips, 
and  the  grass  seemed 
greener  in  the  Treasury 
dooryard,  and  the  sky 
bluer  than  it  had  been 
before,  even  on  that 
bright  day.  Perhaps — 
well,  never  mind !  if  any 
one  says  anything  to 
you  about  principles 
and  giving  alms,  you 
tell  him  that  Santa  Claus 
takes  care  of  the  prin- 
ciples at  Christmas,  and 
not  to  be  afraid.  As 
for  him,  if  you  want  to 
know,  just  ask  the  old 


woman  on  the  Treas- 
ury corner. 

And  so,  walking 
down  that  Avenue  of 
Good-will,  I  came  to 
my  train  again  and  went 
home.  And  when  I  had 
time  to  think  it  all  over 
I  remembered  the  let- 
ters in  my  pocket  which 
I  had  not  opened.  I 
took  them  out  and  read 
them,  and  among  them 
were  two  sent  to  me  in 
trust  for  Santa  Glaus 
himself  which  I  had  to 
lay  away  with  the  edi- 
tor's message  until  I  got 
the  dew  rubbed  off  my 


spectacles.  One  was 
from  a  great  banker,and 
it  contained  a  check  for 
a  thousand  dollars  to 
help  buy  a  home  for 
some  poor  children  of 
the  East  Side  tenements 
in  New  York,  where  the 
chimneys  are  so  small 
and  mean  that  scarce 
even  a  letter  will  go  up 
through  them,  so  that 
ever  so  many  little  ones 
over  there  never  get  on 
Santa  Claus's  books  at 
all. 

The  other  letter  was 
\     from  a  lonely  old  widow, 
almost  as  old  as  my  dear 


mother  in  Denmark, 
and  it  contained  a  two- 
dollar  bill.  For  years, 
she  wrote,  she  had  saved 
and  saved,  hoping  some 
time  to  have  five  dol- 
lars, and  then  she  would 
go  with  me  to  the  homes 
of  the  very  poor  and  be 
Santa  Claus  herself. 
<^And  wherever  you  de- 
cided it  was  right  to 
leave  a  trifle,  that  should 
be  the  place  where  it 
would  be  left,"  read  the 
letter.  But  now  she 
was  so  old  that  she 
could  no  longer  think 
of  such  a  trip  and  so 


13 


she  sent  the  money  she 
had  saved.  And  I 
thought  of  a  family  in 
one  of  those  tenements 
where  father  and  mother 
are  both  lying  ill,  with 
a  boy,  who  ought  to  be 
in  school,  fighting  all 
alone  to  keep  the  wolf 
from  the  door,  and  win- 
ning the  fight.  I  guess 
he  has  been  too  busy  to 
send  any  message  up  the 
chimney,  if  indeed  there 
is  one  in  his  house;  but 
you  ask  him,  right  now, 
whether  he  thinks  there 
Santa    Claus  or 


No  Santa  Claus  ? 
Yes,  my  little 
man,  there  is  a  Santa 
Claus,  thank  God! 
Your  father  had  just 
forgotten.  The  world 
would  indeed  be  poor 
without  one.  It  is  true 
that  he  does  not  always 
wear  a  white  beard  and 
drive  a  reindeer  team 
— not  always,  you  know 
—  but  what  does  it 
matter?  He  is  Santa 
Claus  with  the  big,  lov- 
ing, Christmas  heart,  for 
all  that;  SantaClaus  with 
the  kind  thoughts  for 
every  one  that  make 


children  and  grown-up 
people  beam  with  hap- 
piness all  day  long.  And 
shall  I  tell  you  a  secret 
which  I  did  not  learn 
at  the  post-office,  but 
it  is  true  all  the  same 
—  of  how  you  can  al- 
ways be  sure  your  letters 
go  to  him  straight  by 
the  chimney  route?  It 
is  this:  send  along  with 
them  a  friendly  thought 
for  the  boy  you  don't 
like:  for  Jack  who 
punched  you,  or  Jim 
who  was  mean  to  you. 
The  meaner  he  was  the 

harder  do  you  resolve 

26 


to  make  it  up:  not  to 
bear  him  a  grudge.  That 
is  the  stamp  for  the  let- 
ter to  Santa.  Nobody- 
can  stop  it,  not  even  a 
cross -draught  in  the 
chimney,  when  it  has 
that  on. 

Because — don't  you 
know,  Santa  Claus  is 
the  spirit  of  Christmas: 
and  ever  and  ever  so 
many  years  ago  when 
the  dear  little  Baby  was 
born  after  whom  we 
call  Christmas,  and  was 
cradled  in  a  manger  out 
in  the  stable  because 
there  was   not  room 


^3 

rJ. 


in  the  inn,  that  Spirit 
came  into  the  world  to 
soften  the  hearts  of  men 
and  make  them  love 
one  another.  There- 
fore, that  is  the  mark 
of  the  Spirit  to  this  day. 
Don't  let  anybody  or 
anything  rub  it  out. 
Then  the  rest  doesn't 
matter.  Let  them  tear 
Santa's  white  beard  ofF 
at  the  Sunday-school 
festival  and  growl  in  his 
bearskin  coat.  These 
are  only  his  disguises. 
The  steps  of  the  real 
Santa  Claus  you  can 
trace   all   through  the 


2i 


world  as  you  have  done 
here  with  me,  and  when 
you  stand  in  the  last  of 
his  tracks  you  will  find 
the  Blessed  Babe  of 
Bethlehem  smiling  a 
welcome  to  you.  For 
then  you  will  be  home. 


«9 


4w  ^ 


THE   MAKING  OF 


AN  AMERICAN 

AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

By  JACOB  A.  RIIS 

With  over  loo  illustrations  from  photographs  and 
original  drawings. 

Cloth,  8vo,  gilt  topy  $2.00  net. 

''The  Making  of  an  American  fairly  bubbles  over 
with  happiness,  energy,  and  inspiration.  ...  It  is 
partly  the  pleasure  of  watching  a  desperate,  thrilling 
contest  against  big  odds,  with  success  at  the  end, 
that  gives  this  book  its  keen  appeal." — Boston 
Herald. 

''The  Making  of  an  American  is  the  story  of  a 
very  extraordinary  life,  the  record  of  obstacles, 
apparently  insuperable,  overcome  by  sheer  brain 
and  brawn.  ...  It  is,  moreover,  a  love  story,  of  a 
peculiarly  intimate  sort.  For  Mr.  Riis  won  the 
girl  he  wanted,  after  all.  Only  a  Dane,  and  a  Dane 
who  had  come  under  the  influence  of  that  sweetest 
and  simplest  of  .characters,  Hans  Andersen,  could 
have  narrated  a  story  of  this  sort." — New  York 
Herald. 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


66  FIFTH  AVENUE 


NEW  YORK 


THE  BATTLE 
WITH   THE  SLUM 

By  JACOB  A.  RIIS 

With  numerous   illustrations   from  photographs 
and  original  illustrations. 

Cloth,  8vo,  gilt  top,  $2.00  net, 

"The  book  thrills  you  as  much  as  the  most 
exciting  romance,  and  to  far  better  purpose.  Its 
brief,  crackHng  sentences  tell  of  the  noblest,  most 
high-minded,  most  desperate  fight  ever  waged — 
that  for  decency,  cleanliness,  and  the  chance  to 
breathe  and  live  Hke  a  man."  —  Boston  Herald. 

**As  fascinating  a  chronicle  as  could  well  be 
imagined,  as  full  of  incident  and  'color'  and  warm, 
pulsating,  appealing  humanity,  as  any  dozen  novels 
of  the  day." — Chicago  Interior. 

"Here  is  a  man  who  does  not  'theorize,'  but  who 
knows.  ...  No  one  who  is  interested  in  sociology 
can  afford  to  miss  reading  what  Mr.  Riis  has  to  say." 
— Current  Literature. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE  NEW  YORK 


CHILDREN  OF 
THE  TENEMENTS 

By  JACOB  A.  RIIS 

With  illustrations  by  C.  M   Relyea  and  others. 
Cloth,  I2mOy  $I.SO' 

**It  is  not  enough  to  say  of  Mr.  Riis  and  his  works 
that  he  is  one  man  among  a  thousand.  He  is 
unique.  He  does  his  work  of  benevolence  and 
reform  under  conditions  that  would  harden  the 
hearts  of  many  men  and  certainly  excite  disgust; 
but  he  comes  out  of  the  grime  and  dust  with  some 
cheery  note  or  some  heroic  incident,  some  story  of 
self-sacrifice  among  the  poor,  or  some  thought 
which  ennobles  the  struggle.  The  children  of  the 
tenements  he  knows  and  loves.  He  works  for  them, 
fights  for  them,  and  by  his  wisdom,  energy,  and 
cheerfulness,  he  is  gradually  bringing  about  the 
needed  reformation  in  the  homes  and  dens  and 
streets  of  the  city  where  by  some  he  is  rated  as  its 
most  useful  man." — Christian  Register,  Boston. 

"They  touch  the  heart  and  quicken  the  sym- 
pathies. Very  human  and  pitiful  are  some  of  the 
episodes,  and  humorous,  too,  and  they  are  told  with 
simphcity  and  sincerity." — Brooklyn  'Times. 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


66  FIFTH  AVENUE 


NEW  YORK 


Theodore  Roosevelt 

THE  CITIZEN 
By  JACOB  A.  RIIS 

Illustrated. 

Clothy  Crown  8vo,  $2.00  net. 

"It  IS  written  from  the  heart.  It  breathes  sin- 
cerity and  conviction  in  every  hne.  It  emphasizes 
not  so  much  the  forces  and  influences  which  lifted 
Theodore  Roosevelt  to  the  Presidency,  as  the 
qualities  that  make  his  personality  and  underlie 
his  character.  It  gives  a  vivid  impression  of  his 
mental  and  moral  self — his  point  of  view,  and  the 
ideals  on  which  his  public  career  has  been  based.  .  . 
It  is  a  refreshing  and  stimulating  picture — one  that 
will  carry  encouragement  to  every  reader  whose 
heart  is  enlisted  in  the  struggle  to  exorcise  corrup- 
tion and  oppression  from  our  body  politic."" — New 
York  Tribune. 

"Mr.  Riis  has  been  on  confidential  terms  with 
Mr.  Roosevelt  for  so  many  years,  and  has  seen  and 
studied  him  at  such  close  and  under  such  various 
conditions,  that  he  is  able  to  write  of  him  as  no 
other  living  man  could.  He  is  frankly  a  devoted 
admirer  of  the  President  as  a  man  and  as  a  public 
servant;  his  faith  in  him — in  his  wisdom,  his  un- 
selfishness, his  loftiness  and  nobihty  of  purpose — 
is  large  and  unbounded;  and  in  this  book  he  gives 
the  best  of  reasons  for  this  faith  and  admiration." 
— Leslie  s  Weekly. 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


66  FIFTH  AVENUE 


NEW  YORK 


AVfRY 
cuosa 


